Chaos Walking
by Paeng
Summary: All Takayanagi Rai wanted was some semblance of peace in her tumultuous lifestyle, so avoiding Akutsu should have been at the top of her survival list. Because the guy was literally chaos walking. — AkutsuOC


**CHAOS WALKING**

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 **1**

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She had an hour.

Stepping out of the old, dingy dojo and into the busy streets of Shibuya, she knew she really only had two options: it was either the stylish café on the other side of the road or the hole-in-the-wall restaurant by the corner. The Nagger would have wanted her in a more secure place, where she would have means to call for help lest any sort of danger popped up—the café would have been the best choice. But then there were _so_ many people, and wasn't that danger in itself? The adrenaline was pumping through her veins as she made her choice; she squeezed through the horde and turned around the corner, where an unremarkable family restaurant popped into view.

"Welcome," a waitress greeted and led her to one of the vacant tables.

The place was surprisingly empty, save for a boy in one of the far-end tables beside the huge glass pane windows. She took in her surroundings, noting the homey interiors bathed in bright fluorescent lighting, and was only snapped from her scrutiny of the place when the waitress returned to ask for her order. She scanned the menu with genuine curiosity, her eyes raking over the wide variety of items. The waitress seemed to have sensed her indecision and kindly suggested the bowl of tonkatsu curry rice, a house favorite. She acquiesced, not wanting to subject herself to further discomfiture, and also ordered a tall glass of root beer float to ease her nerves.

A moment later, she finally lapsed into a bubble of solitude and allowed herself to relax, to _breathe_.

She replaced her snapback on top of the table alongside her fashion glasses, and pored over the details of the flier she received on the streets. _Joint School Fair sponsored by the Atobe and Sakaki groups,_ it read, with pictures of various booths and a crowd of patrons donning their camera-ready smiles. There was a tiny prickle of envy in her chest as she stared at the group of jubilant-looking junior high school students posing with pastel-colored cotton candy sticks in their fists.

"Welcome."

There was a mild scuffle by the doors, then a stream of boys walked past her and amiably greeted the old man by the counter. The waitress simply asked if they were going to get the usual, and when they voiced their affirmation, they made themselves comfortable in one of the longer tables right next to hers. They reeked of sweat and testosterone-filled energy as they slapped each other's backs and burst into a fit of raucous laughter after a round of lewd gossip.

"Kiko's a bit too old already, don't you think? I prefer idols who are our age."

"Like Chou?"

"Fuck yeah! Chou-chan! Have you seen her latest commercial?"

"The sports bra one?"

"Dude, it was a _Keds_ advertisement. What were you looking at?"

She had the good sense to zip up her jacket, and as she was reaching for her cap and glasses, the waitress stepped out of the kitchens, with a tray of food in one hand.

"Mika-san! Is there a super chef lurking in your kitchens today?"

"Oh, hush. This isn't for you, Abe-kun."

By the time the waitress had reached her table, she was hunched over the flier in her hand and strived to look as inconspicuous as possible, well aware that the boys' attention had been momentarily diverted to the arrival of her food. It was literally a battle between her ability to blend with the walls and her present company's power of observation, so when the boys had slunk back to their conversation, she found herself sighing in relief.

The thing was, everybody has their breaking point.

If she wasn't hopping from one city to another or working to please the gaggle of people who flocked to her on a daily basis, she had to do the other hundred demands expected of someone borne under the spotlight. Over time she had come to realize that doing wasn't the root of her problem; it was more the _dealing with people._ People, who had no reservations about passing her around like she was some ragdoll and refusing to get her consent for _anything_ because apparently her parents' opinion trumped everyone else's, including her own. People, who thought it was perfectly okay to take snapshots of her in her own _bathroom_ and post it in a public domain for the whole world to see. People, who thought to lambast and degrade her person by writing outrageous lies about her, was helping her in the long run because isn't that what she was after all along?

Attention?

Everybody has their breaking point, and after seven years in the industry, she has reached hers.

Only then was she able to gather the courage to concoct a plan to deceive the Nagger, so she could get an hour. One measly hour for herself, without anyone demanding anything from her.

So it came as an absolute disappointment when one of the rowdy boys had taken the seat across hers. He was grinning, as she stared back at him, wide-eyed.

"Damn, I was right."

The other boys had also turned towards her general direction, expectant.

"Can I ask for an autograph, Chou?"

She could have taken flight, could have told the boys currently leering at her to fuck off and mind their own business. But time has tempered this habit into her system: without batting an eyelash, she had plastered her best smile on and reached for the pen and paper.

The next few moments passed like a blur—a tumultuous affair, with the boys sidling up against her for a selfie and asking her to sign their notebooks, rubber shoes, and could she possibly sign their foreheads as well while she was at it? The energy they had when they entered the restaurant was amplified, if that was even possible, as they gushed and fawned and ogled her. It was precisely this sort of happening which she had wanted to be rid of.

Even for an hour.

A plastic chair suddenly whizzed past them and slammed towards the adjacent table.

Time froze.

No movement, no sound was heard as all attention was suddenly on the boy who had been sitting by himself when she entered. He was pale, with bleached hair gelled into neat spikes, and wore some sort of jersey, the sleeves of which were rolled all the way up to his shoulders, revealing his impressive biceps. He seemed to have reached some sort of breaking point as well, by the murderous aura he seemed to emit. His cat-like eyes were penetrating.

If looks could kill, they would have been a bloody butchered mess on the floor right now.

"Oi."

The boys were unnerved when Mr. Delinquent slipped his hands in his shorts and got on his feet, easily towering over every single one of them.

"Shut up, fucking banshees."

"I—it's Akutsu," one of them whispered, and it amused her how the group's energy dramatically died down when they returned to their seats, like five-year-olds reprimanded for stealing from the cookie jar. They ate their meals in silence, their posture alert, ready to flee in case the wild beast in the person of Mr. Delinquent pounced on them and decided to have them for dinner instead.

Meanwhile, the waitress had managed to calm Mr. Delinquent down, who slumped back into his seat in a huff. When he dared to smoke a joint, both the owner and waitress could only forlornly gaze at him. He returned the gaze with a pointed look, as if challenging them to order him to step out.

Then her phone started vibrating, and she knew that time was up.

Standing up, she had the good grace to smile at the other students, who timidly nodded at her in farewell. But before stepping out, she shot a furtive glance at Mr. Delinquent, who apparently could not be fazed by her departure. He had his attention decidedly pinned outside the window, her presence of no consequence.

"We have to be in Shizuoka by nine. Takeuchi decided to move the shoot because Oguro-kun's flight got delayed. After that we'll have to get back to the agency for your recording in the morning then your press conference in the afternoon…"

Her expression was thoughtful as the SUV whizzed past the busy streets of Shibuya, the Nagger's yapping slowly fading into the background.

"…have a month to look _believable_ in the fight scenes. Speaking of, were your lessons satisfactory today? Rai. Rai! Are you listening?"

Her eyes were shut.

"Have you memorized your lines?"

"Shut up, fucking banshee," she whispered.

"What?" The Nagger bristled.

"Part of the script," she breathed against her neck pillow and jabbed her pointer finger against her skull by way of explanation, and then soon after fell asleep.

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At precisely five o'clock every Tuesdays and Thursdays, she would sweep past the other patrons and take a vacant seat in one of the far-end tables.

It was routine.

The family restaurant at the corner of the dojo had become some sort of haven for her.

Her calculated move was an experiment of some sort, with her wondering which would predominate: the crowd's inclination to breach her moment's privacy when discovered, or its fear of the boy they referred to as a _monster_. In the days that followed, she was secretly pleased to note that his notorious reputation was so powerful that it was enough to ward off anyone within a five-meter radius.

It was a stroke of genius on her part that her chosen table fell within that five-meter radius.

"Look, look. I think that's Chou over there. In the bandanna."

"Uwaa~ Let's take a picture with her."

A pointed glare from him would be enough to shut them up, and sometimes, she would be subject to the same treatment whenever her lips would curl into an amused smile.

She didn't mind.

Because of him, she had her hour.

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He was anything but stupid.

The sudden onslaught of customers was _her_ doing. Albeit unintentional, by the way she seemed so intent on hiding behind a pair of sunglasses so big that it covered half her face. He hardly paid attention to anything around him, so the unremarkable brunette in the tracksuit should not have been an exception. But the other patrons seemed to think otherwise, as the more observant ones endeavored to find a way to get her attention without invoking his wrath, which was sad to say, impossible. His reputation in Shibuya has served him well for several years—it was a natural deterrent from unwarranted attention. And the nameless girl had cleverly taken this to her advantage, managing to wriggle her way within this so-called, 'protective sphere.'

In any case, the fact remained that people steered clear of his way.

With that, he was content.

As he pored over the details of the application form old Banda had sent him, the idea that someone had the _guts_ to break into the sphere and courageously stand within an arm's length distance away from him was so unthinkable that his primary reaction was to crack his knuckles and stare the trespasser down with his glare.

It was the girl.

"The other tables are full."

She was wearing a white shirt too ginormous for her slender frame, and as he let his eyes wander even higher, he became privy to the small quirk of her mouth as she looked at him _sheepishly_. There was embarrassment, rather than fear in her chocolate-colored eyes.

"Leave me alone," he grunted and broke the eye contact, deciding he has had enough of her.

She did not, however, leave him alone, and simply stood by his table. Waiting. Waiting for what, he did not know, but he had no intentions of finding out. Slamming his fist on the table, and in turn, alarming the nearby patrons, only resulted to opposite of his desired effect: she seemed to take that as invitation to further communication.

"I can't… sit with other people," she murmured. "You know what happens."

"It's not my problem," he deadpanned, slipping a stick of Marlboro Lights between his lips and lighting it.

She was adamant, her gaze on him unflinching. "I know it pisses you off. If it pisses you off, it means it's a problem for you."

He could feel the telltales of anger steadily rising, as he studied the girl who did not seem to be backing down anytime soon. Was she an idiot? Wasn't it obvious that he didn't want anything to do with her? Sure, by some miraculous, gracious whim, he had allowed her to use him as some sort of _amulet_ to ward off people, when he could have just told her to fuck off, go find sanctuary in some other family restaurant so that he wouldn't have to deal with all the shit he had to deal with for the past week. How that made her believe that she was an exception to his iron rule of solitude was beyond him _._

Besides, if she hadn't decided to pop up in this place—out of the hundred fucking family restaurants in Shibuya to waltz into—he would have been left alone.

Just like he wanted.

But now, he had to deal with her wanting to sit with him as well.

" _You're_ pissing me off." He blew the smoke on her face. "Fuck off."

He finally succeeded, and watched with muted interest as the girl obediently sauntered off to a table occupied by a group of high school girls. Only a few minutes of silence passed when the said table erupted into a fit of giggles, and looking up, he saw how her previously dejected face morphed into that of unparalleled delight. It was a complete farce. She played her part well. Knowing that she attracted attention like a magnet, even without looking around, he knew it was only a matter of time before the entire restaurant caught on.

She had half an hour left… she would live.

His chair made loud scraping noises as he dragged it backwards and got up, heading straight for the door. He only grunted in response when the waitress bid him farewell, and a moment later, he had secured a spot in a nearby 7-Eleven, which had the perfect vantage point of both the café his mother was working in and the family restaurant he had just left.

Precisely half an hour later, the girl had stepped out of the restaurant and slipped inside an enormous black van, which immediately sped away into god knows where.

Days have passed since his first encounter with the girl, but it was only then he allowed his thoughts to stray from its usual course—her face was familiar, the faint traces of images lingering at the back of his head. He prided himself of his impeccable memory, but was very selective when it came to the information filed in his head. So if he had to struggle to remember something, it was not a question of whether the memory was defective or not.

It simply meant it was too irrelevant of an information for him to endeavor to remember.

 **/**

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Later, in the convenience store, as he bought his second pack of Marlboro Lights, a smiling brunette with a bottle of Pocari Sweat in her hand stared back at him from the wall behind the counter.

Then it clicked.

"Ah."

Printed in big bold letters at the bottom of the poster was the name, _Chou._

 **TBC**

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 **A/N:** Everything seemed flawless until I started writing it down. Ahahaha ahaha aha. Anyway, I had to get this off of my head. I just had to.


End file.
